4:50 p.m. I just woke-up, and my foot is missing. I’ve looked in the most obvious place, of course, but it’s just not there. Darlene’ll be here at 5:00. Shit.

4:53 p.m. My hand’s missing now; it disappeared somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom. It’s usually hard to miss those things. I have to stay calm. There’s bound to be a reasonable explanation. WHERE’S MY DAMN HAND??? Calm. Yeah, calm. Have to stay calm . . . calm–

4:59 p.m. This is not a dream. Right now, I’m crawling on the freaking floor looking for my legs. I know they just didn’t get up and walk away. Jesus, I must be going nuts. The doorbell? No, nobody’s there. It’s only the dog down the street barking. I hate that hairy little son of a bitch. One more minute. I just have one more minute … until … 5:00.

Maybe she’ll be late. No, that’s her. Always miss prim and proper. Always getting things her way. She’ll be on time. Never early. Never late. On time. Like clockwork. You can tell when it’s her because she always taps on the damn door with that cutesy little knock. Knocking out some tune. She’s a real Ice Queen, that Darlene. She thinks everything’s about her. But it’s about me. It’s always been about me.

Ice Queen. Wait. Yeah, that’s right. I put everything in the basement because the pantry’s too full. That girl last night, she was a real keeper. I had to keep every piece of her. It’s all about me. She’s mine to keep. Her legs. Her hands. I’m much more of a leg man. Hands do make the best keepsakes–they use up less freezer space. Yes. I remember now. Everything is tucked away safe and sound. Just the way I like it.

There’s the knock.

5:01 p.m. Hi, Darlene.


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